Duty Bound
by MidnightHeir
Summary: Leo's journal. Culture clashes, frank opinions, doubts. This is a DARK piece. Problem 1 A warrior draws his sword to draw blood, and no other reason, right?


**_A.N: _**This is quite a _**dark piece**_ for me, and may seem a little 'off' for Leo and Splinter. However I would like to state that this entire piece is inspired by the phrase **_'A warrior draws his sword to draw blood'._** Hopefully this will serve as suitable enough warning, and any out there that feel queasy or uneasy about reading on this topic can take heed now, and have a happy reading elsewhere.

_Age;_ 15/16 years old

**_A Warrior's Duty – Drawing Blood?_**

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I never understood why I had to do it at first, other than the fact that Father told me that I had to. He introduced me to the concept when I was nearing thirteen. When he first gave me those metal blades I was thrilled. He told me how to look after them shortly afterwards, how to polish them until they shone, and how to sharpen them using a piece of sandpaper and flint. But I'll never forget the first time he pulled me to one side and gave me what I suppose you could call 'a talk'.

When Master Splinter first started grooming me for leader he warned that it would take a lot of dedication and commitment. At the time he was particularly vague but when I shrugged it off I didn't think it would ever come to this. Pokemon, of all things, always seemed more important back then. But it has, and I suppose that is why I am thinking about it again. _'A warrior draws his sword to draw blood.'_ Nothing more, nothing less, and if he cannot draw it from his enemy then it is drawn from himself. That was 'the talk' in a nutshell, but at thirteen there are more important things to worry about than perverse pleasures. And that is what I think this is becoming.

Master Splinter wanted to get me into the habit from the very beginning, he even went so far as to show me where and how to do it. It turned my stomach the first time, but I had my Father at my side, he held my arm out straight and talked me through the entire procedure. It seems odd, but we bonded over this bizarre ritual. I would hold my sword in my right hand and then draw it slowly, starting at the hilt and working backwards towards the tip along the crook of my left arm. I guess I was lucky to have my Father's guidance, he had done it many times in his youth, and knew what angles were the most efficient, and at what speed to perform it in order to make it sure was reasonably painless.

One time I cut a little too deep and wanted to go and see Donatello, that was when Master Splinter's actions became a little odd. By that point I had grown accustomed to remaining behind after training to draw blood, and having had 'the talk' I assumed my brothers had also. That was the day that I learnt this not to be the case. My Father did not want to alarm Donny with my additional practice, or Raphael or Mikey. I never quite understood why; but I suppose that he did not want them to worry. In retrospect I suppose I should have realised that Master Splinter did not want my brother's to know what it was I had to do. After all my scars are hidden beneath one of my brown leather arm guards, they always have been, and I suppose they always will be.

That day I had to hold my bandanna over my arm whilst Master Splinter went into his quarters to retrieve his own personal medical supplies. I felt rather privileged to be given access to such special herbs and tonics. Even when my face contorted in horror at the blood that was escaping Father knew what to say, I suppose during his own training he must have made similar mistakes. He certainly told me of some interesting stories from his time in Japan, and in his own dojo. They made me smile, who would have thought Sensei capable of playing practical jokes? Master Splinter has never been that harsh on me or my brothers. And we are especially fortunate for that blessing. Even during the days when my arm ached and I could not perform my kata's fully Master Splinter would share a knowing smile with me and excuse any minor error. And for that I am eternally thankful, I have to be. There were, and still are to this day, times when that certainly irritated Raphael. But he isn't aware of the sacrifices I have to, and will continue to make for the family.

By Western standards, and I'd wager my more westernised brothers ideals, it seems rather barbaric, but as I am now coming to realise by Eastern Philosophy it makes perfect sense. It takes an inordinate amount of courage to commit the act of hara-kiri, but it is something that is considered honourable. And this is to. Drawing blood in this fashion is the culmination of so many different exercises; you are able to practice your meditation techniques so that the pain is less. You grow used to seeing your own blood spilling from a slight wound, so when in heated battle such things can not distract me, and, most importantly, it allows me the opportunity to practice distancing myself from my emotions and my actions. And what is a leader without a calm, focussed head? Nothing. Obviously!

It is a dangerous tonic, drawing ones own blood, and now that we are allowed to go into battle I have found that my Father's additional actions, and teachings have always worked to my advantage. And for that I can only be thankful. But as I stare at the small parallel scars that run up the crook of my arm I cannot help but feel a small tug. When the adrenaline of battle fades there is always a small part of me that not only knows how, but sometimes wants to recreate the burn. One smooth, efficient slice at a time. And I suppose that is why I am reminiscing today Diary. There have been few battles of late, and my day feels incomplete without something constructive to do. The years have ticked over easily enough, my brothers have each grown into their own people, but I cannot help but feel drawn back to what I know. The movements of metal running over, or through, smooth flesh, I haven't done it for months now, I haven't had to, my enemies have seen to that. But … things are so quiet at the moment …

_(Lying on his bed, Leonardo pauses to glance at his katana's lying at the foot of his bed.)_

It is an honourable exercise. And after all what is a warrior without his honour? Diary, my Father would not lead me astray, would he? Not Intentionally? No, I know he would not.

Eternally Yours,

Leonardo

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_**Disclaimer -**_ Don't own the turtles now, and doubt I ever will! For those of you who give up some time to read this, thank you, for those of you who left a review, thanks for the additionaltime!


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